My Lady Notorious by Jo Beverley

said,
“but I don’t know what to do about the bodice. Could it be altered?”
    “Undoubtedly, but not in an hour. Wait a moment.”
    She left, and Cyn took the time to force control onto his body. He
took some calming breaths and thought cold, unlustful thoughts.
    As his body returned to a more passive state he reflected with
satisfaction upon the encounter with his damsel. They progressed,
indeed they did. Was she really a virgin? That would present problems,
but not insuperable ones. She was clearly no conventional miss.
    It was perhaps a little unsporting to let her think him unaware of
her gender, but she had just shown she wasn’t above trying to exploit
the situation too, the hussy. He grinned with admiration and
anticipated her return.
    He began to struggle into the gray quilted petticoats. By the time
he’d tied the laces he felt smothered in all this material. He kicked
the skirts out of his way as he tried to pace, thinking that perhaps
hoops were preferable after all. They’d keep the material from tangling
about his legs.
    He had no intention of trying to wear secondhand shoes, and so he
slipped on a pair of his own. They were his evening shoes—black kid
with high red heels and silver buckles. Though ladies rarely wore such
shoes anymore he would merely be thought old-fashioned.
    He walked a bit more, growing accustomed to the garments, to the way
they moved as he walked, and the way to walk within them. Had Charles
had to go through this performance when she first put on men’s
garments? She’d certainly learned to move with manly confidence.
    His damsel returned with a big basket and held out a neckerchief. “Put this on.”
    It was a coarse, plain triangle of material, not at all like the
filmy, ruffled ones his sisters wore. He obediently draped it around
his shoulders, wondering what to do with the loose ends.
    She clucked with exasperation. “Oh, sit down.” When he sat in a
chair, she deftly tucked it into his neckline at the back, crossed the
front points at his collarbone, and tucked them behind the stomacher.
He refrained from commenting on this expertise and simply enjoyed her
touch.
    When she’d finished, he looked down. The bodice still hung loose.
“What do you suggest? Handkerchiefs? I’m not sure I have enough for
this vast cavern.”
    “No. They would be too lumpy anyway.”
    “My dear Charles,” said Cyn coyly, “who precisely do you think will be feeling my bosom?”
    She cast him a disgusted look. “Everyone, if you behave as a woman
like you do as a man. You’re a bold piece, Milord Cyn, and aptly named.
Look.” She indicated her basket which contained unspun wool. “Nana’s
next blanket,” she explained, and passed him a handful. “Push it behind
the stomacher.”
    He sat down and pulled out the bodice. “I think it will have to go
inside the shift to be secure.” After a couple of handfuls he said, “It
would work better if you stuffed it in and shaped it. You’ll be able to
see what you’re doing.”
    She gave him a suspicious look, but dutifully came over to push the
soft gray wool down against his skin, handful after handful. She
stopped every now and then to ease and adjust it to the shape of the
bodice.
    Cyn knew it was unwise to have her touch him like this, but being
unwise in such matters was second nature to him. He relaxed back in the
chair, studying her serious features.
    Gad, but she was beautiful. Her skin was as smooth as cream satin,
and the lines of her nose and jaw were as perfect as a marble statue.
Her lashes were not as thick or long as his, but the purity to their
dark curve was the only possible frame for her clear gray eyes.
    He felt a cad for having lustful thoughts about such a pristine being, such a madonna.
    Then she was concentrating. Her lips parted. Her tongue came out to touch her upper lip with moistness. He caught his breath.
    She looked at him. “Did I hurt you?”
    “No,” he said, swallowing. “It tickled.”
    She